


from the first hunt to the last

by prayer-in-the-bone (waterlit)



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Angst, Fear, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 05:45:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8477554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlit/pseuds/prayer-in-the-bone
Summary: The night before the apocalypse: a tale of fear, desperation, and something close to love.





	

The orange-red twilight had darkened to a purplish night. The fires had been doused by everyone and anyone who could be spared from the main battle. The ashes of ancient trees and blooming roses now lay heaped in the ruins of the gardens, a terrifying testimony to the fierce fighting that had taken place that very day.

The turrets, half-destroyed, rose high into the firmament, dingy and bat-like in their sepulchral splendour. Allen walked through the dusty corridors, exhaustion spreading deep in his bones. His head hurt, as if someone had taken an anvil to it. He was reminded of Cross, a hammer, and a mountain of debts; there was a sudden heat behind his eyes, and a bitter taste of loss found its way across his tongue.

It hurt.

All the destruction hurt. The lives lost—the beauty destroyed—the Akuma he couldn't save... All these hurt. And yet the world spun on, and the sun sank beneath the horizon as it always did.

All the deaths, so unnecessary, all the blood, spilled in gallons…

Allen knelt in prayer beside a gargoyle which was missing its head. _God, oh almighty Lord, where are you when we need your succour the most?_

Footsteps approached. Calm, dignified, almost silent footsteps.

"Beansprout."

Allen turned. Kanda stood before him, fringe matted and hair hanging loose around his shoulders, his General's uniform splattered with blood.

Blood. Allen pushed himself off the ground. "Are you hurt, Kanda? I'll take you to the medical wing now—"

"No."

"I thought… you wouldn't be back so early."

"It's the last night, isn't it?"

"Yes," Allen said.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Rest. It's a long day tomorrow."

Kanda loomed tall over Allen. "One last night," he said, his fingers pressing against Allen's.

Allen could smell the blood in Kanda's hair. He could smell the tang of Kanda's sweat. A primal desire arose in him—it was the last night, after all. Without thinking, Allen reached up and ran a chilly finger across Kanda's face. He swept the curtain of hair away, back behind Kanda's ears.

"What are you doing?" Kanda said, voice raspy. "Stop this, Beansprout."

"We should make the most of the last night."

"Leverrier's dog will be coming for you soon," Kanda said.

"When did you start to care about rules?" Allen said. Impulsively, he pressed his lips against Kanda's. They were rough, chapped from the long day of fighting.

In the drunken half-light, Kanda kissed Allen back.

* * *

Allen woke before the sun. He sat up in bed, the covers falling off his aching shoulders. Kanda slept soundly beside him, the bruises of the previous day's battle still apparent on his face.

It had been a good three years. Three years of knowing Kanda, of wanting Kanda, of saving Kanda (and Alma), of befriending Kanda. From that eventful day at the gates of the original Order, when Kanda had jumped off the high walls to place a sharp blade at Allen's throat, to the mission in Matel, to the chance meeting in Edo, to today.

Beside Allen, Kanda stirred. He opened his eyes and stretched, the edges of his tattoo rising above the white of the sheets.

"You're awake," Allen said.

"Is it time?" Kanda asked.

"It's morning."

Kanda sat up. "We should go."

They dressed each other's wounds and then pulled on their uniforms, all in silence, revelling in the other's touch. Slowly, the sun rose above the horizon, and the courtyard beyond started to bustle with the noises of morning.

When they were done, Allen looked back at his room. "I wonder if this is the last time we—"

"Come on," Kanda said, taking Allen's hand.

And so they walked on, not looking back again, towards the morning light. They walked towards the morning, where the Earl awaited, where the Noahs awaited. The last battle beckoned with quick fingers. It was time for the final hunt, time for their weapons to bend to their will, time for the Order to stride towards their final, juddering kill.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by John Burnside's poem The Hunt in the Forest and meant to be darker than it actually turned out. 
> 
> First posted on FFN in Jan 2016.


End file.
